


Until We Drown

by VenetaPsi



Category: Banana Bus Squad, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Sea of Thieves, Angst, Angst and Humor, Captain!Smitty, Developing Friendships, Elements of fantasy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, ExNavy!John, Except everyone talks modern cause fuck that, F/M, FirstMate!Eli, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magical Elements, MedicGunner!Anthony, Minor Original Character(s), Olden Times, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pirate adventures, Pirates, Plundering, Romance, Ship Terminology to the best of my ability, Slow Burn, Smitty has a fear of the Ocean, Smitty the Prediction Master, Smitty's Predictions, Unreliable Narrator, Worldbuilding, backstories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2020-12-09 04:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20988599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenetaPsi/pseuds/VenetaPsi
Summary: “Why are you telling me this?” John murmured, low and half to himself. Smitty’s gaze cut back to him, patient and apathetic.“Why not?” The dark brunette responded, too smooth to be flippant, but clearly unconcerned.“I could be dangerous,” John snapped, irritated by this blatant foolishness the young Captain was displaying. “I could kill you all, and here you are telling me people’s names, relations, identities-”“Except you’re not a threat to us.”





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Ship Terminology:
> 
> Deck - (platform/surface walked on when on the "main level" of the boat, open to the air)  
Lower Deck - (inside the boat, below the primary deck, hammocks, living quarters)  
Tween Deck - (empty space ‘between’ two other decks in the hull of a vessel)  
Bilge - (Lowest deck, often where water gathers)  
Crows Nest - (Raised platform at the top of the mast for observation and navigation)  
Captain's Cabin - (cabin/room at the stern of the boat, on the main deck)  
Poop Deck - (roof of the Captain's Cabin, a raised platform/upper deck connected to the main deck, where the steering wheel of the ship is)
> 
> \--
> 
> Gangplank (a movable plank used as a ramp to board or disembark from a ship or boat)
> 
> \--
> 
> Bow - Front  
Stern - Back
> 
> (Looking toward the bow of a ship)  
Port - Left  
Starboard - Right

John’s wrists burned as he twisted his arms painfully behind his back, one leg planted against the bars of his cell and the other knee digging into the warped wood below. It was agonizing to move his hands; the thin rope cut into his wrists like wire and burned his skin like a rug. 

This _had_ to work, there wasn’t anything for him to cut the rope on and he sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to fight his way off a ship full of pirates with his hands behind his back. These bonds were going to come loose, whether they liked it or not.

The brunette clenched his teeth tightly and gave his wrists one last particularly violent twist; the knot loosened by a miniscule amount at the exact same moment a long hiss of pain escaped his lips. 

He blinked away the pained tears that had gathered in his eyes and focused instead on slipping the knot between his fingers, picking at it until finally, _finally_ the end caught and he was able to work the rope apart. 

John slumped against the cell bars in exhaustion as the rope fell to the floor with a gentle ‘thud’, and cradled his hands against his shirt. After a moment he dared to glance down, gingerly running his fingers over his red, raw wrists. He winced at the sudden sting as the pad of his thumb brushed over scrapes and blood. 

Blowing out a shaky, strained breath, John muscled his way up to his feet; his pale hand slipping to circle one of the cell’s steel bars and support his weight. He could faintly hear the sounds of shouts and rigging far above, but the noise was muffled by several layers of wood. He was definitely below deck, and probably two or three down if his estimation was correct. 

_How the hell was this his life?_ the brunette tiredly lamented, allowing his gaze to skim quickly across the dark interior in search of any escape. Aside from numerous barrels, boxes and a couple weak lanterns swinging precariously from the skeleton ceiling, there was nothing of interest. 

John blew out a heavy sigh of frustration as he head fell forward against the bars with a ‘clang’ and a painful throbbing erupted in his forehead. 

“Ow,” he grumbled. 

He’d already done heavy searching of his cell; a box of steel bars embedded into the wooden structure of the boat and centered in the middle of the room. There’d been nothing, no objects he could reach, no loose bars through which to escape, and the gate was heavily bound with a thick metal padlock and key. John had no materials with which to pick it, and probably couldn’t have even if he did. 

He flopped down onto the wooden floor and crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to shiver. The clanging of bells and snapping of sails echoed throughout the boat, reminding John of days on the sea and a rambunctious crew and the painful structure of the navy that had all been his life not even a day ago. Before the pirates attacked. 

John let his face fall forward to rest on his knees, and just breathed. 

It was hours before exhaustion allowed him to escape from his saddened thoughts, his aching fear and the gentle rocking of the boat. 

Three days in and John honestly wasn’t sure what was worse, the hunger or the cabin fever. Once a day a crew member had brought him food, barely enough, and scurried away as soon as possible. Other then that, there was absolutely nothing different, nothing to see in this empty hull and John was about to scream from the absolute boredom that was consuming him, eating him from the top down as starvation dug from his insides, out. 

There was a noticeable shake in his hands that refused to vanish, and he’d been feeling lightheaded since he’d woken up. 

He was half asleep, staring in a daze at the gently swinging lanterns when the world exploded around him. 

John sat bolt upright with a scream, scrambling backwards as splinters of wood ricocheted through the air and a cannonball shot across the hull, destroying all barrels that occupied it’s path. 

The brunette scrambled backwards, huddling in the farthest corner of his cell that he could as the sharp ringing of a bell exploded throughout the boat and screams echoed from the deck far above. 

Water began to rush in through the hole in the hull. 

Two more cannons exploded through the deck, causing John to curl around himself with another fearful shriek as smoke filled his lungs, rung in his ears and _oh god, he was going to fucking die down here-_

The sharp coldness of ocean water that sunk into his boots jarred him violently back to reality. 

Icy, numbing fear crystallized in John’s chest, and he stared in wide eyed horror at the water rolling into the deck by the bucket full; roaring to the same tune as the terror creeping through his veins. 

The ship was sinking, and no one was coming to try and repair any of the damage done. The deck was going to fucking flood, and he was going to be trapped down here, he was going to drown-

John launched himself to his feet, dragging himself through ankle deep water by the cell bars as he started to slam against them, trying to break free. Adrenalin sparked through his muscles to the point where he felt no pain, even when he threw his entire weight forward to bash his shoulder into the gate, causing the padlock to shudder. 

After about thirty seconds the water was to his knees and exhaustion and panic was setting in. Two more cannon shots exploded around him, one slamming into the stairs and the other into the stern of the hull. 

John gave up trying to force his way through steel and started yelling. He kicked and screamed and slammed metal until his voice was horse and his malnourished, exhausted body trembled with exertion, and he knew no one was going to save him even as he continued to scream- expletives and slurs and panicked shrieks of fear-

He realized, as water swirled around his chest, that there were tears streaming down his face. This wasn’t what he’d wanted, when he ran away from home. He hadn’t wanted to die a forgotten captive in a sinking boat, he hadn’t wanted to drown where no one would ever find him or even remember him. 

John slammed his head uselessly against the bars, cold water draining the heat from his body and sobs wracking his shaking frame. 

_He was going to die._

He swam and yelled until there was only an inch of air remaining against the wooden ceiling of the deck. With one last gulp of misty oxygen, he was submerged. 

It was an eerie feeling, John realized as he floated there, suspended motionless in ocean water and coldness. The surrounding area was practically pitch black, illuminated only by the faint light trickling in from the stairs. The shadows of destroyed barrels and hull made him feel like he was seeing a ghost ship- observing a wreck from the bottom of the sea. 

Pressure began to build up in his lungs and throat, and he wondered if anyone would ever find this ship, find the body floating, trapped in a cell at the bottom of the sea. 

A sudden explosion of bubbles radiated outwards from the stairs, and John saw the black silhouette of a man blotting out the light, moving towards him. John surged forward to meet him as rushing water echoed his ears and burned in his throat, and watched through unfocused eyes as the man pulled a sword from his belt. 

The shadow hooked the blade behind the padlock and twisted, the snap of metal echoey and distorted through the water, and then he yanked the door open and grabbed John’s arm, and John couldn’t breath, he could hardly think, what was going on-

Strong arms looped under his own, wrapped around his waist and dragged him towards the stairs as John’s vision began to blur, his brain screaming for air. 

The water turned golden as his sight finally blotted out black, and John’s body went limp in his rescuer’s iron grip.


	2. Chapter Two

The compass was smooth and metallic under pale, practiced fingers. Hazel eyes observed the glass and thin needle intently, judging the value of the weighted object as it spun lightly, settling on North. 

The dark brunette flipped the compass over and studied the engraving on the back, some phrase in Latin that he couldn’t read. Perhaps the mystery would make it pawn for all the more. 

“SMITTY!” A voice shouted, loud and alarmed, and the other started before slipping the piece into his pocket with a sigh and turning to exit the ex-Captain's quarters. The boat was probably getting too unstable for them to remain aboard, and Smitty cast a sad look at the unopened cabinet as he left. There could’ve been maps in there. 

He blinked several times as he moved out into the sudden light, sidestepping a corpse of the previous crew as he tried to locate the source of the shout. His gaze settled on his first mate Eli, and more importantly, the man limp in Eli’s arms. 

“Captive,” Eli sputtered, and Anthony was already abandoning the nearby boxes of ammo he was counting to rush and help lift the motionless man out of the water logged stairs and up onto the deck. “In a cell on the lowest deck. He was conscious when I found him, passed out before we surfaced.” 

Well fuck. 

Smitty blinked twice before hurrying over, offering Eli a hand while Anthony flipped the man over and pressed down hard on his chest, leaning next to his mouth in an obvious search for breath.

Smitty turned to Eli, pushing his mate down and guiding his black haired friend’s head down between his knees as the man coughed painfully. Smitty ran a gentle hand up and down his back until Eli calmed, his shoulders rising in deep, rhythmic breaths. 

The sudden sound of violent hacking caused both men to flinch. They turned in time to see Anthony lean back, the man beneath him convulsing against the deck of the ship. Smitty jumped up to help Anthony roll the man onto his side as the captive began to cough up water at an increasingly alarming rate, body trembling like it was going to fall apart beneath Smitty’s fingers. 

Eventually the man went still, breathing labored and raspy, and his eyes fluttered open, pupils a vibrant blue and absolutely haunted. 

Without a word, Smitty backed away slowly, motioning for Anthony to do the same. He didn’t want them to trigger some sort of nervous breakdown in this man if they could help it. 

The air was silent except for the snapping of ruined sails, but charged, as though some sort of power was rippling around them. Smitty didn’t like the dangerous vibes he was getting from this man. 

He looked absolutely pathetic, however. Brown hair a soaked, rampant mess that was just slightly too long to be short and clothes ragged and thin against his skin. He was trembling, after effects of near suffocation and probably also from malnutrition and exhaustion, now that Smitty was noticing the thinness of the man’s stomach and the black smeared below his eyes. 

He was in only a thin white undershirt and generic brown pants; there was nothing in his attire that gave any explanation for who he was or why he was a captive. He likely had not been a part of the crew, because pirates simply killed those who betrayed them, not bothering with a cell. 

And those eyes...yes, this man had seen something, Smitty decided, looking again at that scarred blue color. 

The man coughed again weakly, one hand pressed against his chest and the other flying to his temple. His wrists were a bright, bloody red, glaring and ugly against his pale skin. 

He seemed to shudder slightly, before he focused in on his surroundings, and Smitty watched with fascination and pleased surprise the speed at which the captive registered his situation and took inventory of Smitty’s crew. 

Only a split second, and then recognition in his expression- anger and fear, a sudden color of wrath and absolute terror split the man’s face, and he scrambled away from them, collapsing backwards against the mast as his weak body failed to support him. 

Ah. He’d been attacked by these pirates then. Smitty glanced around at the remains of this ships crew, strewn across the deck. The man’s vessel was probably sunk, his friends dead. Something had prompted these pirates not to kill him, but take him instead. 

Smitty observed the man with renewed curiosity that quickly morphed into pity as he watched the captive struggle to move, too weak to stand. 

“We’ve gotta move, the ships’ going,” Eli finally spoke up, and Smitty startled, having momentarily forgotten the others were even there, or that the ship was sinking below their feet. “Are we taking him with us Capt’n?” His voice was slightly slurred with exhaustion, but the title jarred Smitty anyway. God he was not used to this yet. 

“Yeah, we’re going,” He responded, watching the man even as he began to make his way towards the side of the boat. “Are we able to get him across? Are we going to have to swim him?”

“I can probably take him,” Anthony supplied, and Smitty could tell the brunette was already accessing all of the damage done to the captive’s system and how long it would take to repair. “Are we swinging?”

The man’s gaze was flickering between the three of them in quick succession, and anger must’ve overpowered fear because he suddenly spoke, surprising them all with the fire in his eyes and the sharpness in his voice- shockingly strong. 

_“‘He’_ is sitting right the fuck here, and _‘he’_ is not going anywhere with _pirates.”_

For a moment there was flabbergasted silence, and the irrational urge to giggle bubbled up in Smitty’s throat, only barely suppressed. 

“Listen,” He told the man, lips twitching briefly, “If you want to stay here on this sinking boat, be my fucking guest, man. But you can’t walk, and we’re not stayin’ here. We’re going back to our boat. So you can either sit your ass down or let Anthony swing you across to ours. Then you can bitch all you want.”

The man seemed to be considering his options, which were admittedly very few, and then rolled his eyes in a surprisingly human gesture before holding his arms up towards Anthony, like a little child might to their parents when they wanted ‘up’. 

Smitty would have laughed if not for the alarming shake in the man’s hands and the way he was leaning to the side slightly, like him might fall over. 

The boat creaked ominously beneath their feet, and wood snapped in the distance. 

“Time to go,” Smitty announced, suddenly deadly serious, and turned on his heel to run across the narrow deck. He trusted Anthony to handle the man, and Eli was quickly right at his side. 

They hopped up on the side of the boat, hands grasping long ropes that dangled from the rigging in sure, practiced movements. Smitty caught a quick glance of Anthony adjusting to accompany for the man before the Captain snatched his own rope passed to him by Eli and launched himself out over the sea. 

This was Smitty’s favorite moment of piracy, foot and arms looped in rope and soaring through the air with waves and spray crashing below him. It was powerful, for him to feel like he was above and untouchable by the ocean, washed by air.

All too soon wood appeared below his feet and he dismounted expertly, boots slamming onto the deck of their smaller vessel. Eli landed not two seconds later to his right. With only a quick glance, a conversation through eyes, the two separated, Eli running off to the lower deck and Smitty turning to offer a hand to Anthony. 

The captive was pale and shaking, all previous fight having evaporated from his system as he slumped in Anthony’s grip. Smitty stepped up to throw the man’s arm around his own shoulders, a hand around his thin hip and then both of the pirates were leading the half-conscious man across the deck and down into the single lower layer of their ship. 

Eli had already thrown a bunch of blankets down on the ground, and together Anthony and Smitty lowered the man down onto the makeshift cot. A thin layer of sweat coated his entire face and he shivered violently. 

“This is your expertise,” Smitty whispered to Anthony, and the other gave his Captain and friend a serious nod before kneeling at the captive’s side. Smitty crossed his arms tightly over his chest and stepped back beside Eli, both watching silently as Anthony started to rearrange blankets and assess the man. 

“What’s your name?” Anthony asked lowly, likely to see if the man could respond. He did, slowly and after several seconds of hesitation. 

“...John” He slurred, voice heavy and raspy, and then Anthony started dishing out orders to Smitty and Eli alike- what to grab, what to do, how to help, because by some sort of silent agreement, all three had decided John was getting the empty spot in their crew. 

Smitty gave John one last look as he followed Eli up to the deck, scanned the face of this wrecked, pale man who’d had fire in his system even after nearly dying, who hated all three of them on the principle of what they were and whom they knew absolutely nothing about.

And yet something about John seemed painfully familiar. 

Smitty pursed his lips in thought and followed Eli out.


	3. Chapter Three

John drifted. 

His vision flickered, blurred light intermixed with burning heat and coursing chills and he wondered if this was what it was like to die. 

There were other oddities too, cool cloths and the gentle murmurs of different voices and a distinct lack of yelling or pain. 

Water was coaxed down his throat and fruit brought to his lips, and in the brief moments of blurry consciousness John remembered home, remembered being five years old and burning with sickness, his mother’s cool hand on his forehead. 

Warm, calloused fingers settled gently on his forearm when he began to sob; homesick, lonely and in pain. A low voice in his ear talked about random, useless things, told stories until John had calmed, stopped crying, slipped back into feverish sleep. 

_He likely has Pneumonia, Eli. He was in freezing water, he’s half starved and completely dehydrated. I’m doing the best I can._

_ Shit. Can we do anything?_

He was so dizzy, the world spinning. Another voice, a third.

_Is he going to die?_

John started coughing violently, feeling phantom water in his lungs even though nothing was there. Warm hands brushed his throat and rubbed softly until the coughing subsided. Instructions in a low voice and then there were different fingers, slim and freezing cold under his head and the back of his neck; that lifted him up so that a cup could be pressed to his lips. 

He thought again of his mother, closed his eyes and focused in on the cool, gentle hands cradling his head. John drifted off again to the voices, low before him and soft, smooth behind his head. 

Time swayed, his hold on reality only weakened flickers that slipped from his hands.

In and out, he breathed. 

John woke up clear headed for the first time since his capture, bundled in blankets and finally feeling like his body was an actual humane temperature. 

Hesitantly, he extracted a hand from the warm cocoon of cloth and raised it up to his forehead. Cool skin, no sweat, and to his amazement his hand didn’t shake. 

“Oh my god…” the brunette weakly whispered to the air, and all of a sudden he was giggling uncontrollably. He was _alive._

For a minute he simply breathed in, relishing in the feeling of no pain, no exhaustion in his body’s sure, steady movements. 

With a mild grunt of exertion, John finally sat up and fully looked around. He was again on a lower deck, though this time he could see a sliver of sky at the top of the stairs. The brunette vaguely remembered being dragged down here on the shoulders of two pirates, but his memory was really very foggy after that. 

His gaze fell on the familiar sight of barrels and crates, loaded up for a long journey but with room left to spare. Several hammocks hung from the rafters; empty and weighted only with blankets and air. 

John gripped the wooden wall beside him carefully as he slowly climbed to his feet- apprehensive of his legs giving out beneath him. He blew out a relieved puff of air when his body easily supported itself, no trace of weakness or fatigue remaining. 

As he slowly picked his way across the deck, John came to the surprising revelation that he wasn’t guarded, nor bound. That fact settled uneasily in his stomach, a rolling sesation he wasn’t quite sure what to make of. 

He halted at the stairs to the upper deck, one hand resting on the wall while he rolled the memories of his capture and supposed rescue around in his head. 

This crew had slaughtered the previous one, the pirates that had attacked John’s fleet and kept him hostage. This crew of _three men_ had killed up to _fifteen_ others.

What the actual fuck. 

Steeling himself, John slowly mounted the steps, having realized he didn’t really have any other choice. 

Immediately he was assaulted by bright light, the sharp, sweet scent of ocean water and a cool breeze that ruffled his loose shirt and hair. 

John closed his eyes briefly, sucking in deep gulps of the familiar, fresh air until his heart rate calmed, his white knuckled grip relaxed. 

When his eyes flickered open once more, his sight was filled with brown, softly shaped wood and miles of brilliant blue ocean. Before him, towards the bow of the ship was a man, one John remembered from the rescue and who’s face had flickered during his feverish withdrawal. 

Anthony. The man had told him that name while he soothed John through one of his fits. 

Anthony was crouched beside a pile of crates and seemed to be fiddling particularly with one. The man was pale and made of many rounded edges, with woody brown hair and clear strength in his form. His hands were nimble and practiced, though John couldn’t see what he was doing, and John kind of figured this was the crew’s medic. 

He might’ve continued to watch the man, lost in thought if not for the voice that suddenly rang out from behind him, too high up to have been from the Captain's cabin.

“Oh hey, you’re alive. Go figure.”

John whirled around, spiked suddenly with adrenalin, and locked eyes with a man upon the poop deck who watched him back with equal apprehension. 

“You’re John, right,” the man spoke, no evidence of an actual question in his tone. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

John stared, and the man stared back down at him. John remembered him from the rescue, remembered the others turning to him for guidance. This was the Captain of the ship. The man was shorter than John had expected, though not abnormally so, and one hand rested easily on the steering wheel of the ship. His dark brown hair ruffled slightly in the strong breeze, and his long coat swayed around his knees. 

He looked relaxed, at ease with the ship’s control beneath his fingers, though John noticed a slight tension in the man’s shoulders that couldn’t quite be explained. 

For a moment there was silence, and then the Captain turned away, motioning with his free hand to the space beside him in a clear indication for John to come up. 

Against his better judgment and pushing through his uncertainty, John did, climbing the nearby stairs up to the raised platform at the stern of the ship. The Captain's gaze still followed John curiously, though now John could see it flickering between the ocean before them, the compass to the man’s right, and back to John. 

Clearly he was an excellent multitasker. 

John paused beside the man, in the place he’d previously indicated. Up close, John could now see that the Captain's eyes were a light brown and shockingly intelligent, burning deep into John’s mind the longer they watched one another. 

“I’m Smitty,” the Captain spoke, breaking the bead of silence that’d hung over them. Now that he said it, John remembered the name from his rescue. “I’m the Captain, which basically just means I steer the ship, buy maps, and give occasional directions. My friends decided I should have the title. I disagreed.”

John was taken aback by the straight forward, casual words, thrown around the way someone might talk to an acquaintance, not a potential threat. The ‘friends’ that Smitty mentioned must be Anthony, and the third man John remembered; who must be Eli, now that he thought about it. The other two names had already been accounted for. 

Smitty was watching John patiently, and John swallowed when he realized the Captain was waiting for some sort of response. 

“That’s...nice,” he dumbly responded, and watched Smitty’s lips twitch before the Captain quickly turned to face forward. 

“That’s Anthony,” The Captain continued, motioning to the man at the bow of the ship and confirming John’s previous assumption. Okay good, they weren’t acknowledging his lack of tact. “He’s our medic and gunner, understands cannon warfare like no other. He’s dead useful and hilarious, and the oldest out of all of us.”

Then Smitty motioned upward, towards the mast and the crow’s nest at the very top. 

“Eli is up there. He’s our navigator, our scout, and my brilliant first mate. We’ve known each other for years, and the two of us had our own small boat. We got this bigger one when Anthony decided to stick around.”

John watched the Captain curiously, observed the way his eyes softened when he spoke of his crew mates. 

“Why are you telling me this?” He murmured, low and half to himself. Smitty’s gaze cut back to him, patient and apathetic.

“Why not?” The dark brunette responded, too smooth to be flippant, but clearly unconcerned. 

“I could be dangerous,” John snapped, irritated by this blatant foolishness the young Captain was displaying. “I could kill you all, and here you are telling me people’s names, relations, identities-”

“Except you’re not a threat to us,” Smitty smoothly interjected, turning away from the wheel to face John himself, and John stuttered out because in that moment the young man before him looked every inch the Captain he was. 

His movements were fluid, his jacket billowed slightly from the sharp turn, and it was so dramatic yet completely natural, a perfect fit. Smitty’s eyes were way too knowing, his voice so damn _certain_, like he somehow knew what was impossible to know without years of trust. 

“How the- how the hell can you be so _sure_ of that?” He demanded, voice shell-shocked and rather flabbergasted. 

The Captain’s lips twitched into a wry smirk, sarcastic and just an edge away from mockery. Or maybe self deprecation.

“Trust me, John.” Smitty turned back to the wheel, both hands gripping the polished wood tightly as he focused back in on their course. “I’m sure.”

The sudden snapping of rope and the sound of cloth rubbing together zipped through the air, and John flinched back in surprise when, with a dramatic flare worthy of an acrobat, a black haired man flashed down from the rigging above, sliding down a rope to land with a dull ‘THUD’ on the wooden floor of the poop deck, not even three feet away. 

Smitty didn’t so much as blink, nor even raise his eyes from the mounted compass beside his hand.

The black haired man- Eli, this was Eli, glanced briefly between the two before he laughed and shook his head. His eyes were dark and alight with humor, his movements confident and unreserved, though his voice was surprisingly quiet when he spoke. 

“Captain, you aren’t scaring our newest addition, are you?”

Smitty rolled his eyes, and John started because he’d never seen such a casual gesture from a Captain. 

“I think you scared him more by flying in from the sky.”

“We’re heading a bit east, by the way.” Eli announced, putting a small compass back into his pocket, though John had personally never seen him take out in the first place. 

“Oh hell- are we?” The Captain groaned, flicking the glass of his mounted compass before frowning between it and the ocean. “I thought I was keeping us on track.” 

John glanced over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs, and so he was able to see the confusion, then amusement that flickered across Anthony’s face as he took in the scene. 

The taller brunette strode over and placed himself at Eli’s side. John took the opportunity to promptly back several feet away, feeling incredibly out of place and out of his depth. 

These people were nothing like he’d expected them to be. 

John could feel Smitty’s gaze on him, but he refused to look the Captain’s way, instead glancing over his shoulder to skim over the rest of the ship and the surrounding ocean- half hoping for a way to escape. 

“I’m sorry,” Smitty spoke, and reluctantly John glanced back at him. Those hazel eyes were deeply unsettling, and the man’s tone was far too amused for John’s liking. “This is strange for you.”

“Yeah, what made you think that,” John murmured, failing to hold the comment back. “I’m on a ship of murderous pirates that apparently have no goddamn cells of good sense in their entire body, and I have no way to escape.”

The atmosphere went stagnant and dark in an instant, all laughter ripped from the air as if John had fired a gun. 

On instinct, the brunette felt himself tense minutely, unconsciously readying his body for a fight. He could feel as three pairs of eyes burned into him, mentally berating himself for not holding his tongue. 

“...listen,” to his surprise Eli spoke, his words soft and deceptively calm. John resisted the urge to shiver, because that voice wasn’t kind. “You’ve been through hell, and likely everyone you knew is dead. You’re confused, alone and still recovering from sickness and trauma. Don’t you think you would be dead already, if we wanted you so?”

Logically, the assumption was correct, as much as John loathed to admit it. Normally he prided himself on being a logical, calm person. He was not calm. 

_”No?”_ John spit, the words coming fast and prejudiced, the result of fear and a sudden crushing load of stress settling harshly over his mind. “Then how the _hell_ did you three take down that _entire ship of pirates_ while suffering no casualties, no damage to your ship, not so much as a goddamn _scratch?_ Those pirates were slaughtered!”

He was hyperventilating, watching the trio exchange dark, hesitant glances. 

“We’re just good like that,” Smitty finally responded, voice sharp and soft, barely audible; he did not meet John’s eyes. The Captain turned on his heel and walked off, and apparently that was the last word on the matter because Eli reached for the abandoned wheel and Anthony took a step towards the trembling brunette, hands raised placatingly. 

“John, you’re freaking out.”

“I _know_,” John gasped, and realized with a jolt of fear that he was dangerously close to tears. “No, don’t touch me!” 

Anthony took a step back, arms relaxed at his sides and palms outward. 

John closed his eyes and grasped the rail behind him with one white knuckle hand, the other wrapped around his middle, and just breathed. 

Maybe he wasn’t as recovered as he’d thought. 

“Hey listen,” A quiet voice spoke, and John opened his eyes to look at Eli; the asian man’s eyes were trained forward on the sea, his hands expertly twisting the wheel. “You’re scared. I get it. But you’ve gotta trust us a little bit. We’re heading towards a port, but it’s going to be a little bit of time.

“All you’ve gotta do is handle yourself until then, alright? We can drop you off there and you never have to see us again. We’re not demanding information out of you. You’ll have your secrets, and we’ll have ours. You read me?”

After a moment John nodded mutely, a sudden emotionless exhaustion settling on his shoulders. 

Eli glanced over and gave him a small, closed-lipped smile. 

“Go get some rest John.”

John nodded again, and turned to head for the stairs to the main deck. He paused, one hand on the rail, and turned back to Eli. 

“I didn’t mean to offend your Captain.” The words left his lips grudgingly, a raw apology that couldn’t quite take the form of ‘I’m sorry’.

Eli looked up once more, and his smile reappeared, more relaxed this time. 

“You didn’t offend him,” the first mate reassured. “His ....talent in leadership is a sensitive subject, is all.”

Those vague words echoed in John’s head all the way to the lower deck, and followed him into the drowsy sleep his weakened body so desperately needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the extent of my prewritten chapters. I have a policy of only releasing chapters once the next one is at least partially planned and/or started, so Chapter Four is currently in the works. Expect more delays though, from here on out. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, friends <3
> 
> (P.S. lemme know if you spot typos, please. I always miss some)


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo boy this is a long one; 3941 words, baby. Enjoy <3

For the most part, their life at sea continued as it always had. They had a routine, a dance around one another where everyone knew the steps and it worked, it was comfortable. 

Now they had a ghost aboard their ship. 

Smitty leaned against the railing of the poop deck, one cheek braced against his palm as he watched the sea before him calmly, thoughts distant and unfocused. 

He’d told the other two to leave John alone, and they’d agreed readily; everyone had seen the way the frightened man had lashed out. Smitty’s curiosity towards him had only increased since. He wanted to know so desperately what the man had gone through, beyond what they assumed, to make him so defensive and volatile. 

the most confusing, most _frustrating_ part was that Smitty had seen self loathing spark in those blue eyes, each and every time John had shouted or raised his voice. 

The man was clearly not acting like himself, or his own vision of himself, if the reactions John had shown were anything to go by. 

Not for the first time, Smitty wished he could read John’s mind, or see his past. 

The irony of it all made him want to laugh. 

So instead of knowing, and unable to pry or push, Smitty just watched, observed John each time the man ventured above the lower deck. Usually John sat at the railing of the boat and watched the sea, deeply lost in thought. Occasionally he’d walk around and look at things, or fiddle seemingly instinctually with a small piece of rigging, but for the most part he seemed to drift around the boat in an almost-daze. 

If the Captain had to describe their brooding passenger, he would probably say that John looked like a Widower; glassy eyed and silent, staring out across the dark ocean. 

Grieving. 

Smitty felt a jolt of guilt for momentarily forgetting the man was the sole survivor of his crew. For all he knew, maybe John _had_ lost a wife. 

Someone had given their passenger a coat, one of their scavenged, likely, as it was too large for any of them, John included. The tailored clothing, no matter how oversized, still did wonders for John’s appearance, and it turned him from ragged and rough around the edges to looking far more formal than Smitty thought the man really ought to look.

As time passed, he more than once caught Eli sending the man concerned glances, or Anthony frowning at Smitty himself, but in the end the Captain didn’t know what to do, so he did nothing at all. His presence was more likely to set John off than help, if past interactions had been anything to go by. 

However when Eli started sidling up to John, working the rigging and striking up one-sided conversations quite contentedly, Smitty made no effort to stop him. He had no reason to, especially when John started to respond quietly and eventually began to work the rigging beside him in tandem with the pirate. 

It was progress, and Smitty would gratefully take any kind of progress if it meant they weren’t fighting amongst themselves. 

And so, for several days he danced around John, safe in his circle — the man practically radiated _’space, give me space’._

“I SEE LAND!”

Smitty had to bite his lip to stop the yelp of alarm that threatened to surface at Eli’s flying leap off the crow’s nest and daring grabbing of a rigging rope. He settled for giving his friend a dark glower when the man landed smoothly at his side. 

Eli gave him a cheeky grin.

Smitty handed off the wheel to Eli in favor of jumping up on the nearby railing, looping a hand in the thick rope of the sail to hold himself in place. Sure enough, just beyond the edge of the waves and right up against the horizon was a splash of dark brown, almost black- more flat and spiky then the gentle water otherwise occupying the area.

He hopped back down onto the poop deck just in time to see Anthony drop the rope he’d been coiling to jog over in their direction. 

“I can’t wait to actually walk around.” Eli yawned, stretching his arms high over his head before throwing another glance in the direction of the approaching mainland. Smitty silently agreed with him, excitement jolting through his body at the idea. 

For all his dislike of social settings and schmoozing, he quite missed the bustle and noise of taverns and marketplaces. Plus, they needed to sell all of their wares before something happened to it. 

The two glanced over when Anthony reached the top of the stairs, and Smitty’s eyes widened a fraction when he spotted John as well, following the older man up with quieter, slower footsteps. 

“How long until we get there?” Anthony asked, and Smitty automatically tuned his ears onto Eli, despite his gaze remaining firmly on their passenger. John met his eyes for a brief second; held it, then looked down, fingers twiddling with a button on his jacket. 

“An hour, maybe an hour and a half,” Eli confirmed, tapping a nail idly on the compass in his pocket. “We should probably be ready by the time we hit port, don’t want to waste daylight.”

“Are we selling everything?” Their medic shot Smitty a look, and the Captain fully pulled his attention away to acknowledge the group. 

“Might as well,” Smitty conceded, mentally running through what supplies they had in the lower deck. “It’s not of any use to us, and I’d rather have the solid monetary value than items that might fluctuate. Or be identified or reported as stolen.” 

Everyone graciously ignored the way John flinched at the blunt confession.

Eli shrugged and leaned against the wheel. “I can get behind that.”

“We probably should inventory then.” Anthony sighed, giving the sea around them a quick scan. “I’m glad we’re docking, it looks like rain.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Smitty grumbled, shooting the surrounding grey clouds a dubious glance. When he glanced back, he caught John’s gaze on him once more, face completely emotionless. Smitty resisted the urge to smirk or frown at him just to see if it wiped that unnerving look off the man’s face. 

“Well then,” Eli announced, straightening and clapping his hands together. “Shall we? John, would you like to help me with the sails? I’m sure Smit and Anthony can handle the inventory-ing.”

John jumped slightly, then glanced around in mild confusion. “Uhh...yeah, sure.” 

“Brilliant. Captain,” the First Mate grinned smugly and after sending a salute Smitty’s way, hopped over the railing and landed on the main deck with a flourish. 

Smitty suppressed a smile when John promptly rolled his eyes and headed towards the stairs, much to Eli’s dismay. He caught Anthony’s gaze when he looked up, and the medic shook his head fondly and motioned a hand in John’s direction. 

“He fits in.”

“That he does,” Smitty murmured thoughtfully, mildly surprised when he realized he meant it. “He’s not staying though. Eli told him he was free to go once we made port, and I agree with that.” 

“You never know,” Anthony said, even though they both knew that statement was bullshit. 

Smitty smirked dryly as he too began to make his way towards the stairs. 

“You never know,” the Captain echoed. 

By the time they were rolling up on port, Smitty never wanted to calculate the value of silk in a barrel ever again. 

He was more than happy to climb back up onto the deck, and studiously ignored Anthony’s snickering as the medic followed his younger Captain up the stairs. 

For a moment Smitty halted, drinking in the sight of solid land and lights and buildings that dotted the quickly growing coast. A heavy hand settled on his shoulder and he smiled gently, warmed by Anthony’s presence. 

“I’ll bet you’re glad to be here,” Anthony teased, and Smitty punched him in the arm lightly, unable to wipe the grin from his lips. 

“Shut up.” 

For a moment there was comfortable silence, draped heavily around them. Then Smitty stepped away with a sigh, letting Anthony’s hand drop back to the man’s side. 

“We probably ought to drop the anchor.” 

“Or you know, we could always crash into the pier,” Anthony suggested as Smitty began to make his way towards the large wooden spoke at the center of the deck. 

“Let’s not,” The Captain laughed, and both men grasped onto opposite sides of the spoke in unison. 

“ELI!” Smitty yelled, catching the attention of a shadow flitting up around the crow’s nest. 

“GIVE IT ANOTHER FIFTEEN SECONDS OR SO,” the First Mate shouted back, and so Smitty took the time to look around, fingers rubbing absently on the polished wood beneath his fingertips. _Where the hell had John gone?_

A sail cracked and rope zipped, and Eli landed beside them with a ‘thud’ before releasing his rope and grasping onto the spoke beside them. Taking the cue, all three pushed together, and the air was suddenly split with the sudden creaking of winding chain. All of the pirates quickly jumped out of the way as the spoke started to rapidly spin, dropping the anchor down into the water below them. 

Smitty launched himself over a nearby crate and took the steps to the poop deck two at a time, grabbing the steering wheel and spinning it as soon as his fingertips brushed the wood. 

It was beautiful, the way the large ship swung around and effortlessly slipped into port, finally halting with a single violent jerk. 

A flash of high movement caught Smitty’s attention, and he glanced up to see John climbing down the mast’s ladder, jacket swaying wildly in the strong sea-side breeze. He must’ve been up in the crow’s nest with Eli. 

“You’re all insane!” he yelled, voice washed by the wind and higher pitched than normal. A laugh bubbled up from Smitty’s throat; fueled by adrenaline and genuine happiness. 

“You’re welcome!” The Captain shouted back, and laughed again when John released the ladder with one hand to give Smitty an insulting gesture before the man continued his (much safer, in comparison to Eli’s) decent.

The smile wouldn’t leave Smitty’s lips, even once he was back on the main deck and assisting Anthony in lugging crates and barrels out of the lower deck and towards the gangplank. 

Their ship had attracted attention, and several people stood scattered across the dock, watching them suspiciously. Ships like theirs probably weren’t rare, but still enough of a spectacle to warrant curiosity, and though they didn’t fly any sort of ‘pirate colors’, Smitty would bet some of the people below were already considering the idea. 

The fact of the matter was, it was probably more likely that other pirates were _more_ suspicious of them then general civilians, so Smitty kept an eye on the crowd for anyone who seemed to be acting particularly territorial. 

“Smit,” Eli spoke quietly, right in his Captain’s ear, and Smitty tensed slightly before continuing his separation of barrels, listening silently. “There seem to be some volatile people here. Are we bringing the guns?”

Smitty nodded, agreeing with both the observation and the question. He paused and fully looked over when Eli rested a hand lightly on Smitty’s own. 

“You’ve seen anything?” the First Mate spoke quietly, and Smitty instantly shook his head. 

“There’s been nothing,” he confessed, and Eli pursed his lips before nodding his acceptance and stepping back. 

“I don’t particularly like this place, Captain. I’m not getting good vibes.” Eli turned and walked back towards the stern of the boat. Smitty sighed, letting his forehead fall forward to rest briefly on the barrel. He gave himself two seconds to calm his racing thoughts, then stood up, signaling Anthony that he was heading to the lower deck. 

As he walked down the stairs, he considered the weapons. Naturally, he knew what each of them prefered; himself a pistol and sword, Anthony a sword and shotgun, Eli a sniper and shotgun. They rounded each other out. A thought flashed through his mind as he skirted around the ammo chests, one he had to fight not to instinctively dismiss. 

_Did he give John a gun?_

Smitty didn’t trust their passenger, obviously, though that said little because the young Captain trusted few. Still, he didn’t want the strange, silent widower to die. Most of all, he didn’t want it on his conscience if his stingyness resulted in John’s murder. Furthermore, John was leaving them, and no respectable human being should send someone off on their own with no means of defence. 

Hands moving on unconscious paths, Smitty picked up his sword and laced the sheath to his belt, letting the leather-covered blade hanging at his side. He then reached for the pistol, swung the holster to the opposite side, on his right, and laced the riveted leather together there, too.

Smitty took one step back, considered, than reached down and picked up one of their extra pistols; dusty, but in good condition. 

When the Captain re-emerged from the bowels of the ship, he scanned the sky, and then the deck. Daylight was falling, fast, and he all but ran towards the stern of the ship in search of Eli or John. 

Sure enough, he spotted their passenger up on the poop deck. Smitty slowed his pace as he climbed the stairs, watching curiously as the man seemed to run his hand over the steering wheel, turning it several inches in either direction before letting it go. 

Smitty cleared his throat, nearly stepping back as John snapped around, one hand flying to tuck around his chest and the other gripping the nearby railing, to stop his body from lowering into what Smitty assumed would be a protective crouch. 

The Captain fought himself to not raise an eyebrow. Clearly the man had battle instincts; if not trained, than learned. 

“Listen,” he said, shifting to present the gun and tracking the way John’s pale eyes flicked to the weapon, than back to Smitty, shocked. “Ports can be dangerous. I don’t know if you’ve been to one before- you act like you haven’t, even though that seems impossible, but either way, I don’t want your death on my conscience. So here.” 

Smitty shoved the pistol and holster forward into John’s hands, briefly flinching at the burning skin that touched his own freezing hands. “You know how to use it?”

John blinked down at the weapon for a full second, before he shook his head weakly and glanced up. “No- I mean, yes, I know how to use it, just- you have no self preservation, do you?”

A dry laugh tore its way from Smitty’s throat, pained and sarcastic, and he couldn’t stop it. John eyed him warily as he giggled, and Smitty was quite sure the man thought him genuinely insane. 

“I’m a lot more selfish than you give me credit for,” the Captain finally spoke, getting himself under control, and for the first time, John’s light blue gaze held Smitty’s own, refusing to look away. 

“Those aren’t the same thing,” he said slowly, and Smitty gave him a small smile. 

“Aren’t they?” 

They watched each other for a moment more before a bell run out throughout the air, and both men glanced up towards the crow’s nest instinctively before looking down at the deck, where Eli and Anthony actually were. 

“Let's get a move on!” Anthony yelled, and Smitty swung around towards the stairs, catching John attaching the holster to his own belt in the corner of his vision. John had been honest, he knew the functionality of a pistol at the very least.

The Captain considered it a success that he hadn’t instantly been shot in the back. 

By the time he reached the main deck, Eli was attaching his sword to his hip and Anthony had turned back to the barrels and began shifting them off of the ship. Smitty headed towards Anthony’s side, crouching to help roll the rough-hew cylinders down the gangplank and onto the dock, where other sailors were conveniently clearing a path for them. 

When he straightened, Smitty caught Eli and John talking in the corners of his vision. He couldn’t hear what the men were saying, but their serious expressions and low voices implied something weighty was being discussed. 

“How’re we gonna get these to the market?” Anthony asked, and Smitty turned back around to peer disdainfully once more at the multiple barrels. 

Shit, he hadn’t really thought about that. They couldn’t exactly carry them. Footsteps approached, and words rung out before Smitty had the chance to turn around. 

“Just roll them. Lay them on their sides and kick them with your feet, they’ll roll.”

All three pirates eyed John strangely, even Eli who’d just walked over at the man’s side. 

“What?” The brunet muttered, shifting his weight uneasily. “It’ll work.”

“No- it’s a good idea,” Anthony reassured, a laugh trickling into his voice. “We’ll probably do just that.”

“Hey, I’ll help you two roll these to market, but then I’m going to take John and explore the place, give him what tips I know. I’ll meet up with you guys after that.” Eli spoke to them both, but Smitty noticed that his First Mate looked him specifically in the eyes. The connotation wasn’t lost. Eli had grown fond of John, and wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him yet. 

Smitty suspected John himself and Anthony as well had also picked up on this fact and were just too polite to say anything about it. In the end though, John had made it very clear he hadn’t wanted to be on their ship at all, and Smitty wasn’t about to push it, despite the fact that there were mysteries about the man he hadn't solved yet, and that would likely bug him for months. 

So the Captain just nodded to Eli and turned back to their cargo, noticing the way John untensed slightly at the permission; though Smitty knew for a fact Eli would’ve done this whether Smitty wanted him to or not, and besides, he was never the ‘ordering people around’ type, anyways.

“So long as you _actually_ help us push,” He added, unable to help himself. Eli and Anthony both laughed, and the corners of John’s mouth ticked slightly. 

The crew of four headed towards the nearby buildings and crowds, three of them kicking barrels in front of them cheerfully as the fourth trailed behind, watching the others with a neutral expression some might’ve called calm. 

Smitty pushed his way through the crowd, Anthony right at his heels. Dusk was settling quickly, the sky dark and the world around them lit by lanterns and torches. The duo had long been abandoned by Eli and John, and Smitty was borderline starting to worry because it’d been several hours, and though trading had been a success, the normally punctual First Mate had yet to return. 

Late hours meant crowds became roudier, drunks began to leave taverns, and those with more questionable commerce and moralities would be surfacing to do most of their socialization. 

It was the part of evening Smitty tried to avoid, even though it was a time properly suited to disguise him and his crew perfectly among other foreigners and much more obvious pirates and vandals. Still, the Captain didn’t like the sense of uneasiness and danger that started to build paranoia in his mind, didn’t like it when he realized his hand was resting on the pistol at his hip. 

Anthony was sticking close, though Smitty suspected that was more because the elder sensed _his_ discomfort than from any real fear the medic had. 

People shouted and jeered at one another, and the air had begun to smell heavily of alcohol. The night air was cool and sharp, adding just one more edge of apprehension to the layers already piling up. 

Smitty was starting to get really antsy from the lack of foresight in recent days, because this was just begging for something bad to happen. 

“Are we heading back to the ship?” Anthony leaned closer as they walked, scanning the crowd as he voiced his question. 

“Yeah, we should,” Smitty agreed quietly. “Eli’ll go there if it’s late enough, and I trust him to find the way back. I don’t like this place.” 

Anthony’s expression took on a more serious edge, and he shifted to scan Smitty’s face quickly. 

“Not yet,” The Captain reassured him with a murmur, eyeing the crowd as a particularly vicious cheer went up from a few feet away. The two continued their quick pace, slipping between people and sticking to the edges, closer to the buildings in hope for a clearer path.

They’d just stepped past an alley when a sudden chill shot up Smitty’s spin, overpowering and numb, ice that flashed through his veins. His vision blurred momentarily before honing razor sharp, everything taking on a vaguely golden glow in his eyes. 

_Running feet, air, a gunshot, a body falling to the ground, from behind-_

“What do you see?” Anthony’s grip was tight on his shoulder, grounding him, voice hushed and urgent. 

“Gunshot- move, get to the side-” Smitty gasped and shoved Anthony away, forcing distance between them right as a shadow shot out of the alley, arm raised. The explosion of a pistol was deafening at close range, the smell of powder sharp and metallic in the air. Smitty spun, dizzy, the world still slightly gold- the crowd had scattered, gone silent at the attack- 

Their assailant lashed out, a knife in one hand, and Smitty acted on impulse, gut reaction and the helpful foresight, swinging his own arm to intercept the blow and twist the blade away. 

_Kick, left foot, knee aimed at gut-_

He dodged the kick and drove a fist forward, clipping the woman, because this was definitely a woman if the figure and vocal grunt was anything to go by, in the jaw. Smitty reacted too slow to intercept her counter attack, and a practiced punch landed square on his face, sending throbbing pain through his temples and leaving him reeling. 

_Left hook, incoming, one second-_

He used his own arm to knock the incoming swing back barely in time and slammed the heel of his foot into the back of the woman’s knee to send her sprawling to the cobblestone road. Anthony surged forward, pulling Smitty away with one hand and slammed a fist into their assailant’s stomach, keeping her grounded. The Captain was quite grateful for the strong grip on his forearm, because he had begun to feel dangerously swimmy. 

The crowd around them began to shout again, a mass of moving bodies, and the woman was wheezing on the ground, trying to regain control of her breathing after having the wind knocked out of her. Anthony pulled on his arm insistently, leading him.

The world was starting to lose it’s golden edge, and not for the first time Smitty cursed how weak foresight left him, hated how distorted he felt; only amplified by the pain in his head and the blood on his face and hands. 

Out of the chaos of criminals and drunkards, two figures broke out of the crowd and ran towards them, both sprinting full speed, one outpacing the other by several feet. 

Smitty let himself sag into Anthony’s arms as he ignored the two sets of eyes that bore into him, and thought about just how confused those light blue ones looked. 

He needed a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: Some of you may notice this chapter sounds different- this is a newly updated version with editing and suggestions from my lovely new Beta-reader Yoongify! Seriously, they are amazing and make me sound like such a better writer than I actually am xDDD 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently unbata'ed as I'm struggling to contact them. Hopefully this chapter should be properly edited and updated soon! But I didn't want to keep you guys waiting any longer, so here you are. Thanks for all the support <3

The port was alive in a way John had completely forgotten. He found himself staring, enthralled by the streams of people in all colors, decorated in all ways; fascinated by the way they interacted with one another and carried themselves.

He relished in the now unfamiliar sensation of solid ground below his feet and greedily sucked in lungfuls of smoke-filled, smoggy air because it was _nostalgic,_ the stain civilization had left on the earth. 

Something about the swirl of people and clothes and voices made John feel insignificant, unnoticed, and he allowed the feeling to wash over him, settle the nerves swimming in his stomach. For once, being invisible felt _safe._

“Where’d you get that?” Eli’s voice sounded suddenly from behind John’s shoulder, and he swung around to glance at the first mate, then to track his gaze down to the hostler at John’s hip. 

“Your Captain gave it to me,” he responded after a beat, and Eli’s eyebrows rose in consideration before he shrugged and continued walking past the brunet. 

“You know how to use it?” the pirate tossed over his shoulder, and John glanced briefly between the first mate and his crew members bent over the barrels before jogging to catch up when no one seemed to protest Eli’s departure. 

“I learned,” he answered slowly, and that seemed to be enough of an answer for Eli. A lapse in conversation split the air between them as they ducked between market goers, and for once John felt the need to break it. “You said you wanted to show me around.”

“Yeah,” the pirate casually conceded, flashing John a surprisingly genuine smile as he fumbled blindly in his pocket for something. “It wouldn’t be responsible to let a child go into the world on their own with no guidance, you know?” 

“Wow,” John sputtered, almost choking as a bubbling sensation rose in his chest and throat; something dangerously close to a laugh. “You know, I think I’m older than you.” 

“They say length isn’t the defining quality of a life. Or maturity, for that matter,” Eli remarked, and John huffled lightly under his breath and shook his head in disbelief as he watched the pirate finally wrestle a leather-bound pouch out of his jacket. “Seriously though. I wanted to shop. Smitty only gives a damn about bartering and clothes, and Anthony goes for responsible medicinal stuff and the materials we actually _need.”_

“...and you want to waste money, I take.” 

“Exactly!” Eli beamed exaggeratedly and placed a hand over his heart. “I knew you’d understand, John. My hero.” He spun around and began to hurry towards some nearby shops, missing the faint amusement on John’s face as the man quickened his own pace to catch up. 

John leaned against a wooden support pillar and watched Eli curiously as the pirate spoke in low tones with the store owner. Despite what the man had proclaimed, John highly doubted Eli was out here purely for fun. Too often throughout their brief traipses through stores he’d caught the first mate watching him with an unreadable expression or talking with vendors at a volume _just_ too quiet for John to overhear, and frankly it was beginning to irritate him. 

He didn’t feel threatened, not exactly, but the scheming was enough to set John on edge as he flipped the small golden compass in his hand over and over and futilely tried to eavesdrop on Eli’s conversation without expressly seeming like he was. After a few moments John sighed, gave up, and set the tool back on the shelf where he’d grabbed it from, opting instead to stuff his hands in his trouser pockets and wander out through the front door. 

The brunet didn’t go far, but he settled down on the wooden steps that lead down to one of the dock roads and rested his chin in his palm, fingers running an idle pattern back and forth across the rough boards below him as he thought back to the previous interactions Eli had with his fellow pirates. 

Obviously, the first mate’s request to accompany him around the port had been as much of a surprise to the other two as it had been to himself. Therefore Eli’s suspicious attitude wasn’t some grand scheme throughout the crew, because even the Captain had seemed surprised. It made John wonder though, what was going on. No one had protested however, when the two simply wandered off, so the other pirates weren’t concerned with this behaviour either then. 

John jolted when he suddenly had to remind himself that he really _didn’t_ know Eli well enough to tell if this was normal for him or not. It was an icy sensation, to realize he was bordering on complacency.

With that shock still ringing in John’s mind, he felt through the porch more then heard the footsteps behind him, and was already up and swinging when an arm snapped out with the intent of pulling him into a choke hold. 

Unrepentantly, John grabbed his assailent’s sleeve and yanked, throwing them into the porch railing and sending them crumpling to the ground. 

“Jesus fuck- _shit, stop!_ I’m sorry!”

“What the fuck are you playing at?” John snarled down at Eli’s stunned form, and the first mate blinked at him once before slowly lowering the arms he’d raised to shield his face. John’s ears were ringing with the adrenalin rush, his fingers clenched on the grip of the pistol he hadn’t even realized he’d drawn. 

“Easy mate,” Eli breathed, seemingly recovering from his shock as he raised a hand placatingly, not moving from his position on the ground. “I had to check. You’d be dead in minutes alone if you couldn’t sense someone behind you.”

“Well I did,” John snapped, still refusing to lower the weapon, wincing at the amount of people that turned to stare at the spectacle they were making. “Last I checked you don’t earn someone's trust by jumping them. You expect me to just accept this is some kind of test and help you up? I don’t know what kind of misconceptions you’re under, but we’re not _friends,_ Eli.” 

“Yeah,” The first mate agreed with a breathless chuckle, and John really didn’t see what was so funny about this situation. “If it’s any consolation, you passed?” 

“Oh _joy,”_ John couldn’t help but roll his eyes, something tight in his chest loosening ever so slightly. “Get up, dumbass.” 

Eli slowly clambered to his feet, and in a flurry of murmurs, bystanders began to disperse, clearly disappointed there wasn’t going to be a duel or bloodshed. 

“...where did you learn to fight?” Eli asked seriously, and John swung back to watch him, eyeing the strange expression of curiosity that graced the first mate’s face. “I can’t tell if you’re trained or not.”

This time John actually laughed. 

“You’re asking me questions? I have a gun to your face!” He sputtered incredulously, and Eli gave him a shrug and a sheepish smile. Despite his bravido, John didn’t miss the way the pirate suddenly tensed, taking the threat for what it was. 

“Listen,” John suddenly deadpanned, snuffing his laughter like a candle and watching carefully the surprise given away by a minute twitch in Eli’s fingers, “I don’t know what you’re playing at, and frankly, if you’re trying to betray your crew or something, I don’t really care. But I’m not stupid. I haven’t failed to notice you’re talking to everybody who could potentially know information about this port. Are you looking for something? Out hiring mercenaries?” 

John was almost impressed at the way Eli’s expression went from alarmed to as cold as ice; emotionless, blank and revealing nothing. The vein in his throat however betrayed an anger that would’ve been missed had John not specifically been looking for the sign. 

“Yeah, that hit a nerve obviously. Are you mad I called you a traitor or are you mad that I'm right?” 

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Eli warned lowly, and John admited internally that the pirate was probably right. He wasn’t about to say that aloud, however. 

“I know enough to see the signs of someone _clearly_ looking for something, and it was rather obvious this little shopping trip was unplanned. Your Captain was quite confused, which means that ‘this’,” John gestured with his free hand back towards the store where Eli had previously been conversing with the clerk, “Wasn’t his idea. Which means you aren’t acting under orders, which means whatever you’re doing is something you don’t want them to know about. Or have you just not gotten around to telling them yet?” 

“It doesn’t matter to you, if you’re leaving,” Eli pointed out, taking a non-threatening, but purposeful step forward. _He was right,_ a voice nagged at the back of John’s mind. _This really shouldn’t matter so much._ That didn’t stop the twist in the pit of John’s stomach, however. Like someone had talked behind his back. 

“But hey, I’ll entertain you,” the first mate continued, voice a mix of anger and mocking exasperation. John’s arm began to cramp from holding the gun up so long. “First off, fuck you for saying I’d betray my friends. But hey, you’re new; you don’t know better.

“Second, of _course_ I’m looking for information. We’re pirates, John, if you hadn’t realized that. We make a living off of stealing and plundering. It’s in the bloody job description. Information is our best friend. 

“Third, do you realize how paranoid you sound? You can literally leave at any time. It doesn’t affect _you_ with what I’m doing. Unless you’d like to share with the class?” 

John blinked at the pirate several times, trying to ignore the edge of guilt that had crept up inside his already swirling cesspool of emotions. 

“...lower the gun?” Eli pleaded, and he sounded as tired as John suddenly felt. 

“Goddamn it,” John groaned, and let his arm fall. The pirate sighed with relief and slumped back to lean against the porch railing as John reholstered the weapon and tried not to sag himself, emotionally drained and stuck between feeling petty and feeling like a fool. 

A beat of silence passed between the two before Eli sighed again, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing John with a rueful smile. 

“You’re pretty perceptive.” 

“Oh yeah?” John snorted sarcastically, not meeting the pirates gaze. “I’m fairly certain I just went on a power trip.” 

“I”m serious,” Eli pressed. “I’ve never had someone pick apart my behavior like that before. And you’re right, it is suspicious seeming. Your conclusions weren't irrational, with as unfamiliar with us as you are. And touching, that you cared enough to get defensive over Anthony and Smit.” 

“Oh that wasn’t it,” John warned, but he walked over to lean against the railing at Eli’s side, shifting to watch the darkened sky. Eli gave him a smirk and shrugged noncommittally. “So what were you doing if you weren’t trying for a mutiny?” 

“...I was actually asking about you,” the pirate confessed, and John snapped his attention away to stare at the man in shock. 

“What?”

Eli shrugged again and laughed lightly. 

“You were right to be suspicious, I guess, because I do have ulterior motives for this trip. I was trying to figure out who you are, or what you did. Something about how you ended up in the situation you did. I was hoping if I dragged you to enough people. Someone would recognize you or your clothes, and could give me a name or an occupation or a place or something. Clearly it all backfired.” 

John gaped at him, then chuckled lightly in amazement. 

“What happened to ‘you’ll have your secrets, and we’ll have ours?’” he complained, and Eli grinned at him weakly. 

“I never said we wouldn’t try and figure them out, only that we wouldn’t ask each other about it.” 

“Oh for fucks-” John groaned, and buried his face in his palm, elbow braced on the railing. “I fucking hate pirates so goddamn much.” 

“Sorry,” Eli said completely unapologetically, and patted John on the shoulder. “You’ll get used to it?” 

“Let hope not,” John huffed. “Now- are you done trying to dissect my past through strangers? Or do you have more ‘shopping’ to do?” 

Before Eli could answer the air exploded with the sudden sharp _’CRACK’_ of a pistol firing, sending the first mate spinning on his heel instantly to stare in the direction of the blast; John followed his gaze to a place dangerously near their ship. 

“Fuck,” Eli hissed, and before John could say a word, the first mate launched himself off of the porch and took of running full speed towards the sounds of distant yelling and screams. It was a testimate to _something_ that the second John unfroze he copied the younger pirate, shoving past a pair of ruggedly dressed sailors and sprinting to catch up. 

“You don’t think-” He gasped breathlessly as he reached Eli’s heels, and the first mate shook his head, not even turning his head when he shot back;

“I don’t know.” 

The yelling grew louder as they weaved between buildings and jumped multiple crates on the most direct path towards the fight. Eli was fast and determined, and John was hard pressed to keep up, fueled only by a sinking feeling in his chest that had robbed him of the mental capacity to think about his burning legs, or the logistics of this plan.

They burst out into a square crowded with people backing away or fleeing, all yelling or cheering drunkenly. Eli slipped between the crowd effortlessly and John ducked multiple arms to keep up, nearly losing the pirate in the crowd as he caught a glimpse of fast moving fighting in a more barren strip of dock; obscured by limbs and bodies. There was a sharp _‘crack’_ and the sound of someone hitting the ground, _hard,_ followed immediately by cheers and jeering all around them; so loud the sound reverberated through John’s body as he finally managed to reach Eli’s side just as the pirate shoved through the final layer of sailors. 

The sight they were greeted with made John’s jaw drop. Eli took off running instantly, and John followed slightly behind, watching in mild shock as Smitty stumbled and collapsed into Anthony’s arms, hands and face dark and bloody; face white as a sheet. 

“Foresight?” Eli gasped, and Anthony’s head snapped up, relief flooding his features the instant he laid eyes on them. “I heard a gunshot-”

“Yes,” He told the first mate urgently, his grip on the Captain tightening. “Almost too late too- she ambushed us-” 

John’s gaze swept over the woman sprawled limply on the ground, chest heaving horribly and lungs wheezing with effort. A pistol lay abandoned on the ground a few feet away.

“Smit?” Eli asked, and John’s attention swung back to the pirates. He watched as Eli crouched beside Anthony, setting himself level with Smitty’s head as he reached out to touch the Captain’s cheek lightly. “Listen, we’re gonna get you back to the ship. Stay awake.” 

“...okay,” Smitty slurred, and his voice was fragile; exhausted. 

As though suddenly remembering he was there, Eli glanced over at John, hesitating a moment after his mouth opened to speak, uncertain. 

John flicked back over to the woman, then back to the Captain in Anthony’s arms. He didn’t really think about it, just ran over and helped Anthony lift the disoriented pirate up and draped one of Smitty’s arms over his shoulders so they were sharing the weight. Eli didn’t comment, instead briefly cupping Smitty’s chin with his hand once more and whispering something to him before he turned around and began to lead the way back to the ship, walking with urgency. 

John glanced at Smitty once more, and up close he could see that the Captain’s nose was dripping a steady stream of blood; bruised a deep purple, and that his skin was so pale it seemed almost bleached. His body felt cold even through the fabric that seperated John’s hand and his skin, and John sent Anthony an expression of alarm when the medic looked up. 

“I know,” Anthony whispered as they steered Smitty through the still jeering crowd as fast as they could. “This has happened before, we know how to deal with it.” 

It seemed to take an agonizingly long time to reach the ship, even though in reality only a few minutes had probably passed. Eli helped them carry the Captain up the gangplank, then instantly hoisted the board up onto the ship as Anthony and John carefully lowered Smitty to the ground. 

The Captain had begun to tremble minutely; shiver almost, and his eyes were closed. 

“Smitty!” Anthony snapped loudly, and the Captain flinched, eyelids flickering. 

“...what?” he mumbled, and Eli dropped the gangplank, obvious tension easing slightly as the medic bent over Smitty and tapped his shoulder, causing the man to fully open his eyes. “Where…what happened?”

John watched the jumbled disorientation uncomfortably, off to the side and out of the way, feeling rather useless. 

“Foresight,” Anthony told him, and there was that word again. John watched as Smitty’s expression shifted from confused to alarmed, and it was almost painful the way he saw the Captain go rigid and instantly do a headcount; only then relaxing. “You think it’s safe for you to sleep now?” 

Smitty blinked a few times, then nodded slightly, the gesture closer to a jerk of his head. 

“Yeah...yeah, I think so.” 

“Alright, me and Eli are gonna move you to the cabin, okay?” 

“...’kay,” Smitty agreed tiredly. Anthony glanced over and made a motion for John to stay put as Eli quickly moved to the Captain’s other side and helped Anthony once again raise the man to his feet, the pair walking him over towards the Captain’s cabin at the stern of the ship. 

John watched them go with more than a few questions and the sinking realization that there was no way he was going to be able to leave now.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, a thank you to my beautiful beta Yoongify!
> 
> (There may be a few last minute edits in the future, unsure as of now)

Smitty’s nose hurt. 

Actually, his entire face hurt. The Captain pressed a hand to his cheek gingerly, wincing at the bolt of pain that slashed through his jaw at the lightest brush of his fingertips. 

“Oh- you’re awake,” Anthony’s voice was light and breathy with relief, and Smitty squinted, opening his eyes ever so slightly. The gloomy shadows of the dimmed room swallowed the medics features; ringing him in backlight from the deck beyond. As he approached, Smitty allowed his hand to fall back down to the bed, the strain of lifting it only made worse by the heaviness of exhaustion filling his limbs. 

“How long?” 

“Twelve hours,” Anthony readily informed him, and a sinking feeling bloomed deep in Smitty’s chest. “We went back out to sea to escape the navy, in case enforcers called them. Eli’s steering, John’s doing rigging, I’ve been taking care of you.” 

Smitty mulled over the words silently, gaze sweeping across the messy cabin. He needed to sort out this place, really. 

“...John?”

Anthony chuckled lightly, and Smitty watched quietly as the man crushed something in his palm and dropped it into a mug of water, stirring it with a simple metal spoon. “He came running in with Eli after the fight-” Smitty remembered that, now that he thought about it. “-and helped us get you back to the ship. Eli went out and talked to him after we got you situated. I don’t know what they said to each other, but it sure as hell seems like he's staying. Still as quiet and brooding as ever, but he hasn’t complained once.” 

“Eli’s really taken to the guy,” the Captain murmured absently, attempting to shake the fog from his head as Anthony laid his spoon down and held the mug out in the Captain’s direction. Reluctantly, Smitty leaned forward to take the concoction of water and herbs and winced. He was familiar enough with the taste that he dreaded drinking it.

“You’re the one who says it helps,” Anthony pointed out, and Smitty sighed, pinched his nose, and threw the drink back, swallowing quickly. 

“...It does,” he replied after a moment, holding the empty mug out towards the medic as he wiped his mouth. “It’s disgusting though.” 

“How long do you need?” Anthony asked, repacking the leftover herbs. There were significantly few, though Smitty decided he would worry about that at a later time. 

“Just a couple minutes.”

Already the Captain felt better. His jaw and nose were still sensitive to his touch, and his knuckles ached, but his head was steadily growing clearer; the fatigue draining away. 

“...normally it’s not this bad, Smit,” Anthony said softly, and while usually Smitty appreciated the calm tone of his voice, right now he didn’t have the patience to be coddled. 

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, sharp anger cutting through his voice as he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring anthony's protests and the sudden, sharp pain in his temples. He winced. “I’m guessing it’s because there was such a long gap between...episodes. I lost my tolerance for it.”

“Is that how it works?” Anthony asked doubtfully, offering a hand that Smitty stubbornly ignored as he got to his feet. The Captain stretched, his back and neck popping painfully before he took a few tentative steps. His pace quickened considerably when his legs didn’t give out beneath him.

“I don’t know,” he finally answered, a beat too late, already distracted with the remnants of Anthony’s apothecary on his desk and the pistol and compass lying beside it. “Do we know who that girl was?”

Smitty could sense Anthony’s obvious displeasure at his non-answer and change of topic, but the older man caved as he walked over to his Captain’s side. “No, we don’t. I’ve never seen her before, and we left her at the pier. I can tell you what features I remember?”

“Write it down for me?” Smitty asked hopefully, and Anthony gave him a small, exasperated smile. Smitty felt his frustration ebb slightly. “What? My head still hurts.”

It was a joke, but at the same time Smitty’s head actually ached, and he didn’t feel ready for a long, potentially stressful conversation about his would-be killer. Anthony must have understood, because he sighed long-sufferingly, grabbed a piece of parchment off of the desk and waved the younger away. Smitty smiled at him gratefully before he slipped out of the cabin. 

He’d forgotten to grab his coat and the nighttime ocean breeze bit into him instantly through his lightweight undershirt, sending an involuntary shiver through his body. In a way, he was thankful for the cold. It worked wonders to clear the remaining daze from his mind, waking him up after only a few seconds of standing there, surrounded by the sounds of crashing waves and sharply snapping sails.

Wrapping his arms around himself, Smitty slowly began to walk down the deck, making his way towards the bow of the ship. The sky was dark, sprinkled with stars and far in the distance the Captain could see the first tiny fingers of pink poking their way above the black waves. 

The air was silent as Smitty finally hit the edge, reaching up to grasp a rope and hoist himself up onto the long support pole sticking off the front of the ship; several feet above the carved lump that was their ‘figurehead’. The rope was rough and worn against his palm, and he stepped forward until only the log beneath his feet held him above the slow, lazy waves, the air snapping at his hair and clothes. 

He felt tired. Buzzed almost, too. Like some sort of unknown energy was coursing through his drained body, a foreign force powering his frantic mind. Smitty stared out at the horizon, at the slowly growing pink and tried to focus, tried to calm his racing thoughts.

“Why do I _still_ not understand you?” 

`The whisper slipped out, voiced to something deep inside him that couldn’t respond. He was getting dangerously distracted for standing on such a precarious perch. Still, the words rushed out; frenzied almost, though deathly quiet. Secret. 

“It’s been years, it’s been my entire life- why do you still not make sense?” 

Whatever energy had been fueling him slipped away slowly, like water through his fingers. He stepped back onto the deck and sagged tiredly down to the boards, leaning back against the rail of the ship. There wasn’t any answer from that tiny spot of ice, deep in his chest. Of course there wasn’t. 

He watched the sails wave in the dark, far above him. 

The Captain was asleep again before the sun ever breached the horizon. 

“Hey.”

Smitty cracked open his eyes, blinking haltingly at the sudden brightness of the world around him. His back screamed in protest when he tried to fully sit up. 

The voice’s body was crouched in front of him, backlit by sunlight and it took Smitty several tries to focus in on the man.

John tilted his head slightly, and Smitty was momentarily distracted by the way his dark curls bounced in the wind, blowing across his forehead and cheeks. John swiped it away without a second thought, inquiring gaze still locked on Smitty. 

“Anthony said you slept for twelve hours already. It’s been almost another two, you were here when Eli and I woke up. Anthony said to leave you, but um...you probably don’t want to sit like that much longer.” 

Smitty’s body agreed, if the stiffness in his joints and the sharp pain in his shoulder blades and neck was anything to go by. John stood up out of his crouch; Smitty noticed with no small curiosity that the pistol was once again secured at his hip, and after a moment of awkward hesitation, John offered a hand. 

For a moment the young Captain was tempted to disregard it, like he had with Anthony, but his misery outweighed his stubbornness, and he reached up. John’s grip was strong and he offered his other hand as well, pulling Smitty up at his feet and then stabilizing him a second longer as Smitty winced and blinked his way through a head rush. 

“You good?” John asked when Smitty finally properly looked at him, and the Captain nodded. 

“Yeah, I’m...alright.” At that John stepped back, dropping Smitty’s hands, and waved a hand towards the Cabin at the stern. 

“I think the other two want to talk, if you’re up for it.”

Smitty nodded again, but John had already turned away. The Captain found himself watching the mysterious man as he walked away, seeming intent on distracting himself with rigging. Something, _something_ about the man was eerily familiar. Smitty couldn’t put his finger on it as he stared in part at nothing, watching John unknot a rigging rope with quick, nimble fingers. 

His wrists were significantly better; only a few, thin lines of dark red scabs remained, sticking out past the cuffs of his shirt. It was a strong comparison to the mass of bloodied red the former-captive’s torn skin had been before.

John glanced up at him briefly, brow furrowing, and Smitty realized he was still standing there, staring. He gave John a small, sheepish wave before he turned and headed for the Captain’s cabin.

“There has to be a reason,” Smitty burst out, whirling on his heel as he began to pace the length of the cabin, Eli’s calm gaze tracking his movements as Anthony stared furrow-browed down at the paper in his hand. “There’s no way this girl just _attacked_ us. She can’t be a thief, why would she do this in plain view?” 

“Mercenary, maybe,” Eli suggested quietly, and Smitty grimaced. 

“What would we have done to get a _bounty_ on us?” 

“A lot,” Anthony admitted distractedly, and Smitty deflated with a frustrated sigh, sinking down on the bed to scrub his hand across his eyes. “We’ve stolen from a lot of influential people, Smit.” 

“But we’ve never gotten caught,” Smitty mumbled half heartedly, though a deep sinking feeling had settled over him. A mercenary sent by someone they had stolen from. That told them _nothing._ No information. Quite literally anybody could have sent the girl after them, if that was the case. 

“Okay, I think I wrote all I can remember.” Anthony broke the silence suddenly as he rose to his feet, dropping the small fountain pen he’d been gripping onto the nearby desk and holding out his parchment in Smitty’s direction. 

The Captain reached for the sheet in resignation, and the room fell silent as his gaze skimmed over the neat cursive, considering. 

_Short-average height, female, long brown hair tied up, pale skin, solid but slight build, acted trained_

“We have an appearance then,” Smitty conceded after a moment, lowering the page as he glanced up at Anthony and Eli. “She doesn’t sound familiar to me.”

“Not to me either,” Anthony agreed, and the Captain glanced over at Eli questioningly, offering the paper.

“Already read it,” Eli waved him away and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “Don’t know her.” 

“Fuck.” Smitty grumbled, rereading Anthony’s description one last time before rising to his feet, folding the heavy parchment over into a neat, creased square. He began to pace again, was fuming silently; itching with the urge to get up and _do_ something, but they lacked intel. His chest felt cold. 

“We could ask John?” Anthony suggested in the background, and Smitty bit his lip, turning to stare out the small porthole window. Eli answered in his stead.

“What would John know that we don’t? He doesn’t seem to have any connection with that place at all.” 

“No?” Anthony asked curiously, and Smitty caught Eli’s sheepish shrug out of the corner of his eyes. 

“I did some digging. And some asking. No one knows him. I doubt he’ll know about the girl any better than you or I.” 

“He’s observant,” Smitty inserted almost absently, remembering John’s quick reaction when they’d found him. 

“We were barely there for a minute before we hauled you out, Smitty,” Eli pointed out, and Smitty winced before he could help himself. “Hey- stop that. No one’s upset at you.” 

“I know that,” Smitty shot back, rolling his eyes. That didn’t mean he didn’t feel bad though. He let out a sharp breath between his teeth, then turned back to the other two resolutely. “Okay. We’ll ask John. What’s our plan if he doesn’t know anything?” 

“Your herbs,” Anthony reminded, and yeah, Smitty remembered that. “We’re running low, and if the Foresight is returning, we need to get more. Unless you think you can do without it?” 

“I’d rather not,” Smitty admitted, shuffling his boot absently on the planked floor. “It’s not a very pleasant experience without the tincture. We’d need a port by a forest, preferably one relatively untouched or explored.”

“I’ll bet I can find one, if you give me a few hours with the map.” Eli suggested, and the Captain nodded before relaxing his tense posture, lowering his arms. 

“I guess I’ll go find John.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any desire to leave a comment, please do! It's my motivation to continue writing <3 Anything from theories to suggestions to just plain saying hi, I don't mind. Thanks so much!
> 
> Also, if you don't like my characterization of John, Smitty, or any other characters; I write them as accurately as I can whilst not knowing them personally, in the way I think they actually are. I don't like the fandom's "creation" of them. Thanks for your understanding, and I will continue to write them in my own style.


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